


I've got a dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty little secret

by DisenchantedHalo (Morgawse), Morgawse



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-04 10:22:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15839295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgawse/pseuds/DisenchantedHalo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgawse/pseuds/Morgawse
Summary: “I’m not psychotic, I just like psychotic things”. Is that true or does Gerard have a dirty little secret he would prefer the public not to know?  What does Frank have to say about it? How is Bert involved with both of them?





	1. Gerard Talks

**Author's Note:**

> A quick word on the setting. In this story, The Used were a bigger band than MCR. MCR never got to WTTBP levels of fame before breaking up. Even though Bert never appears, I had to write something where for once he isn’t the bad guy. :)
> 
> I also couldn’t help myself with playing around with the history of two Pop Punk legends! No mega-band status for Green Day, and Blink182 finding success without Mark Hoppus! Tee hee, giggles unashamedly.
> 
> I think I got all the typos and other errors. If not, apologies.

All my carefully crafted façades blown to pieces, and the ugly truth of my real self, laid bare for all the world to gawp at. Years of dedication to having the world believe my borderline psychopathic personality was merely an act, so utterly destroyed that not even my genius could concoct a credible plan to repair the damage. So how did I, Gerard Arthur Way, find myself in this predicament? A bombshell from my past. You know how they say that the past comes back to haunt you, I never believed that bullshit until now, but it happened to me. So, you want to know how? Well, Dr A let me tell you about it. 

I knew my destiny was to be an artist, to write and illustrate comics. I was so certain of it I didn't bother at school, I spent almost every waking hour drawing or writing stories for comics. I used my talents for getting what I want to ensure that my records showed the right grades to secure my place at art school. Fine art was never my thing, so I got my degree the same way I graduated high school. After college, I learned my lesson on not taking anything for granted the hard way. I thought talent would be enough, but evidently not. My pitch for a cartoon was turned down. I hadn't honed my skills as finely then, had fewer contacts, and didn't have any leverage over the decision makers. So, I couldn't make them give me the deal as I had with my education. It was then that I vowed I would never let myself be in that position again. I never was either. Until now.

Ahh, I see you're impatient to know how I created the double bluff. The cinnamon roll, shy bumbling, D&D playing man who played the psycho to the adoring public as a singer & comic book author, but whose true personality was reminiscent of the maniac he so convincingly portrayed. Hmmm, not sure I want to give all my secrets away just yet.

Yes, of course, you also want to know about the band. Well, I guess that is sort of central to the whole thing, but maybe I should tell you about Bert first....Yup, that's correct Dr A, the late Robert McCracken.

You know, Bert was the nearest to my only one. The one that fit right. All his weirdness, all his edges, all his drive, his creativity, it all just jibed so perfectly with mine. Bert loved me as I am, not as the fake-ass characters I portray to the world. So many people got Bert wrong. They made him the villain of the piece when he was possibly the most honest, genuine and mature of all of us. You know, some people are not as lily white as they portray themselves; yes, me included, or I wouldn't be here talking to you would I, Dr A? After all, as my once adoring public are claiming, I am in fact the devil incarnate. But my Bert, he just wore his heart on his sleeve, his scarred & wounded heart. He didn't play games, ever. I played them for him. The whole Bert driving a wedge between and pulling me away from a just rising to the fore My Chemical Romance, that was all my creation. It was working too. The public loved seeing us together; they adored the idea I sold them of Frank and me too. Unfortunately for me, they came to love that idea more than the reality of Bert and me. Did I love him? No. Love's not a concept I adhere to, but I was fond of him, and he was mine unreservedly, body, mind & soul. 

Patience, my good doctor. Frank will have his undeserved day in the sun in this story, that hardly talented ingrate. You see, the story has to be told my way, or I won't tell it at all. Do you understand? Oh yes, I do 'get' the seriousness of my situation. I 'get' it far more than your peanut brain can comprehend, this was never in my plan. Never. Now back to Bert. You are listening carefully, aren’t you? I would hate for my storytelling skills to go to waste. 

Images of Bert still flood my mind. His lank, greasy hair, his skinny body, his sneer that passed for a smile, his eyes once bright and twinkling that receded and faded into two black pinholes on his face; and then there were his heroin-fuelled highs, all too quickly followed by nausea, vomiting and incessant scratching. You see, I lost him to the drugs after a while. He had to go and overdose, didn’t he? Another rocker, teetering on the edge of superstardom, found dead in his Tampa motel room with the tell-tale track lines up his arms. I played the grieving partner so well. Of course, I did, why would I not? I mean, I was grief-stricken at the time, still am, in a way. But, er, can we keep this strictly entre nous, there was more than a touch of playacting in there too. I had to. I needed to maintain my public profile, keep it alive even if it was as “Gerard Way, comic-book writer and ex-lead singer of the New Jersey band My Chemical Romance, better known as the boyfriend of the late Bert McCracken”. If I had been a woman, no doubt they would have referred to me as his wife before naming any of my accomplishments! The public craved those open displays of grief they so associate with us ‘emotional’ creative types. But you already know that, don’t you, Doctor?

Oh, please Dr A, we all know who’s really in charge of this little conversation. Me. Please try not to interrupt my flow. You know it will only make me pissy. You see, I’m being awfully cooperative right now. Feeding you the information you want to make that assessment of whether I am criminally insane or not. I mean, I could simply tell you the answer right now – I’m not the Clown Prince of Gotham, and neither Bert nor Frank were ever Harley Quinn. Although now you come to mention it, Frank might have looked good all dressed up as Harley. Hey now, that would’ve been true genius. I mean sure, not necessarily the punk look he was going for back in the day, but it would have been a great gimmick. Damn sexy he would have been too, now that would have got all the Frerard fans going some. Hmm too late, Gerard, too late. We may even have lasted longer, been catapulted to mega rock-star status, rather than the status we had. However, that was never the plan. Who wants that anyway, stuck endlessly on the road playing soulless stadia filled with people who like one song or know one album? It was always my plan to generate that devoted following and then fade away, leaving them desperate for more, in love with the idea that was My Chemical Romance.

Really now, don’t divert me like that Dr A! It’s not good for either of us. I have a plan. I am always the man with a plan, and you, well, we all know you have a schedule to stick to, more people to assess. Distract and divert me and you won’t get the full story you want. Then, can you claim to have enough information to make an accurate assessment of me?

Now, please, I have a question for you before we proceed. Oh, again I am well aware of those time constraints, after all I was the one that just brought them up, was I not? It would be so helpful to me and my story though if you would allow me to ask this question. It may even prove useful to you. Now, let us try that again. Dr A, may I ask you a quick question? Thank you so much. What of those little checklists are you assessing me against? Surely, you’re not still using Hare’s PCL-R, are you? I could see how you might want to, but would I not be correct in thinking that if the world’s psychotherapists and psychiatrists relied too heavily on that test, then most of the politicians and captains of industry would be psychopaths? Hah, yes, of course, I know my stuff. I make sure to read up on it. Fascinating. It helps me so much in what I need to do, and how I do it, so that I get what I want. You know I don’t hear voices. I don’t see things. I don’t have any other identities than those I choose to create and present to the world. I have never claimed that. So, where else would you go but psychopath, sociopath or grandiose narcissist? Do I seem like a person with anti-social behaviours to you? Hmm, anyone ever tell you that you have no poker face whatsoever? Your silence, the way you’re holding your mouth, and that tapping motion with your pen on the desk, they betray you more than any verbal answer could. I study people. It’s part of my research. My success depends on noticing how others are behaving and exploiting that to my best advantage. Wasting time? Well no, I don’t see it like that. You see, as I said earlier, that exploration will benefit both of us in the long run. Do try and keep up with me please, Dr A.

Maybe let’s get back to the story, shall we? So glad you’re in agreement. But how on earth did you come to wind up here, Dr A. I mean it’s sort of weird isn’t it that you gave up a promising career to become this, this insipid shadow of the genius that could have been Billie-Joe Armstrong. I do hope they weren’t stupid enough to think that I would open up just because we once played on the same stage many years ago, just before we both quit. Ahh, I see they were. Oh well, too bad. I’m still in control here. Yes, ok, impatience won’t do the trick either. But you do have a point – hmmm, the story.

You know the beginning, everyone does. Standing there at Hoboken watching the towers fall. That part is indeed true. It did motivate me. A metaphorical rocket up the ass, if you will. You see, for any of my plans to work there must be some bedrock, a solid foundation, a believable truth. That was part of it, so is the story about the beginning of the band. How Mikes and I met Ray, and how our favourite little groupie ended up becoming our rhythm guitarist. That is all entirely true, no manipulation, well not of the facts anyway. It happened in the way we all tell it. Even Frank doesn’t twist that truth to make him the victim. It’s … no, perhaps that’s better said in a little while. In the correct place in my tale. Victim is such an ugly word. It denotes powerlessness. A capitulation to someone else. Weakness. Giving up. Strange then that someone like Frank always chose to portray himself that way about us, the three of us. But still, all in good time. Oh yes, that was no mistake, the three of us. Please let me tell it my way; all these interruptions just waste time neither of us has, a bit like that clock melting away in some over-printed Dali painting.

There was always a fantastical tension between the four of us in the band. Mikey and I were able to communicate without words, sometimes without even looks. It’s a brother thing. We’re much the same, with one very distinct difference – he always, and I mean always, lives it and tells it like it is. He shows up exactly as he is, never feeling the need to put up a front. But then it means he doesn’t always get what he wants unless I get it for him. I did that a few times too. I mean how else do you think he snagged Pete Wentz? I know, Brother of the Century, aren’t I? No, maybe perhaps not, but you must admit it was a dream pairing wasn’t it? Two handsome bassists from two of the hottest rising bands on the alternative and Warped Tour scene. My one regret, I was too busy with turning everything else the way I wanted, both in comic books and music to take the time to appreciate my handiwork, to bask in the knowledge that I had created one of the dream pairings of that era and that Mikes and Pete loved the attention just as much as the fans adored, and still do adore, giving it. Of course, there was more to it than making my little brother happy. Did you really believe I would operate in so altruistic a manner? Oh, I see, another little one of your tests, huh? While yes there was indeed filial affection, my true motive was once again airplay, media time. Such a bright, talented and good-looking couple would give the band more coverage, which could be used to promote whatever I wanted, and of course, I did.

You think that once again I am dodging the real issue? That I am avoiding talking about Frank? Well, inevitably his name has crept into our little tête à tête often enough so far for you to see that he is a central character in this sordid tale. However, I must keep things in their correct order for you to understand, if indeed you are actually capable of understanding the intricacies I am laying out before you. As I keep reminding you, I always have a method, and I always get my own way. Despite what you and your bosses might think, Dr A, this will be done my way, and I will achieve my glorious goal. Shall we continue?

We worked hard. I may have plans, and I may have an extraordinary gift for making people comply with my wishes, but that doesn’t mean that it comes easy. You know well enough that the music industry is hard work. You gave it all up for a life behind a desk, probing the inner workings of people’s minds because it was more comfortable. It made you less vulnerable. You could hide away behind that façade of professionalism and make pronouncements on other people for money without having to bare one iota of your soul. I could not do that. Nor it seemed could Bert or Frank. That’s why they were drawn to me. In whatever twisted way it manifested for them, it seemed like I gave them hope. Hope that there was something more than a dreary existence of mediocrity, where they were left scratching around in the dust just to survive. Instead, even if only for a few brief glorious minutes, they could soar high and be free. Their freedom was hard fought, it came at a cost to them, but they were willing to pay the price. To be fair, Bert was willing to pay the price. Frank, well he vacillated. At times the price was not high enough, he grabbed the opportunity and ran with it as fast as he could. At other times it seemed too astronomical a price to pay, so he retreated into the safety of an ordinary life. A life that left him bitter, angry, anxious and resentful. One that moulded him into that monotonous role of husband and father. I, however, worked my plan. I worked my backside off. All the drugs, the booze, the on-stage antics. Those interviews, even the ones with fan questions, they had to be planned out meticulously to create exactly the right image for the time and place; for the creation of my status as a legend, a visionary, a misunderstood creative genius. To achieve immortality for my music and my comics, the generation of an idea that refused to die. Even with everything that has gone on, even the one or two random elements I was unable to control, I have generated that status. I am and will be, what I set out to become.

But, oh, Dr Armstrong, when you have tasted sweet freedom, it gnaws at you, it eats away at you. You can only lie to yourself for so long. You know that too, don’t you? See the way you just shifted in your seat. You know you sold out. You crave the road of the outspoken musician. I see it in you. They did you a big disservice appointing you to analyse me. It’s lighting that fire again, isn’t it? Regret is a useless emotion. I know I said I regretted not basking in Mikes and Pete, but it’s still a waste of time. But, back to you. What you once were, you could be again, and more too. The kicker is, and you know this just as much as me, you have to stop lying to yourself, admit what you crave and dare to go after it again. It is never too late. What was once possible, could still be possible for you.

I am making you nervous, aren’t I? It is for your own good. I acknowledge that we are almost out of time. That was indeed my plan. You know it, and I know it. Never mind the time, I have gifted you everything already. You say I never told you anything about Frank and me. I never spoke about what happened to him recently. How I felt about his revelations online. But I have. They have been recording this. So, listen again. Listen not with your head, but with your heart, with your intuition. Listen as the creative, the opinionated thinker, not the crusty old therapist. It will become obvious. I expect they’ll let you compare notes with his therapist, considering Frank is still alive. Human nature loves to watch a car wreck and this, this relationship between me, Frank and Bert, this is a wreck of biblical proportions. Everything is there in the tire tracks if you will just stop to examine them in minute detail.

So long, Dr Billie-Joe Armstrong. I enjoyed our conversation.


	2. Frank Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Gerard's session with Dr Billie-Joe Armstrong, what does Frank's side of the story look like when he talks with Dr Mark Hoppus?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two for you, my lovelies. Thank you so, so much to anyone reading this. It was a strange little experiment both in tone and using the one-sided conversation. I sort of like the feel of it and I hope you do too.
> 
> I hope I got all the errors and typos. If not apologies.

So, you see Mark, er I can call you Mark, can’t I? Dr Hoppus just sounds so formal, so unfriendly. I can’t spill my deepest darkest secrets to just anyone you know. I need to see them as a confidant, for them to have a friend-like quality before I could do that. I know all you’re concerned about is my mental state and what new label to slap on me, but to do that you need to hear it from me, in my own words, don’t you? Great, thanks, Mark. Shall I go on?

I never intended things to be like this. Sure, I spent most of my life on medication for one thing or another, both mental and physical ailments have plagued my life. I make no secret of that, my allergies, my shitty immune system, the anti-anxiety medications. I have even played on stage so ill that many others might have cancelled. I mean, whatever label you want to slap on the music we and others made it, was relatable to a bunch of kids who never fitted in, who were struggling with life and wanted people to acknowledge that and be real about their own struggles, so that’s what we tried to do. We said, “we struggled just like you, but we’re still here”. If we met them off stage, we would say whatever came to mind to help, like drawing on yourself instead of cutting, finding people you trust to talk to. All of the bullshit that everyone says helps, and it does help some, others like me, not so much. Me, Mikey and Ray we would do anything to help those kids who looked up to us bands as heroes, even if we had to keep secret how ineffectiveness of some of these strategies were for us. Of course, even Gerard did that for the fans too. Eventually though, as always, his ego ended up getting in the way, but I’m not ready to go there just yet.

Do you get how hypocritical I feel now? My lies, my inability to cope with life. I claimed to be a ‘normal’ fully functioning adult for whom life did get better, and who learnt more helpful coping mechanisms, all of that laid bare for the world to examine. But of course, as you know, that proved to be bullshit. Yet again, I made myself the hypocrite; there is no-one else to blame for that. Do you understand what that feels like, Mark? Have you ever stood on stage and told hundreds, possibly even thousands, of teens that it gets better as you get older when inside your head all you can think of is “I want to end this, I can’t deal with the pain anymore”? Knowing that at some point you really are going to act on those thoughts. That they are not an if, but a when. No, I didn’t think so, tucked away behind your desk, seeing disorders and diseases instead of human beings. Too harsh, too cynical – maybe? Well, when you figure what’s wrong and actually find something to stop the anxiety and the depression without side effects that screw me up just as badly, and that allows me to lead a truly happy and contented life, do let me know. Until then, I won’t be holding my breath.

Oh, yes, I do understand that this is all standard procedure for someone like me. I’m not entirely convinced of the efficacy of this when all the details are in my medical file and splattered all over the internet. I’m sure a psychiatrist as highly qualified as yourself could make a relatively accurate diagnosis from that evidence alone. I reckon you already know what the notes and recommendations you make from this little meeting are going to say. Hmm, you want to hear the whole story from me first before coming to conclusions? I highly doubt that.

I already told you, Mark, that unless I see you in more of a friend than an official role, then I can’t open up like I know your procedure tells you that you have to make me. I’ve pretty much told you everything I feel able to. Aha, so already making those guesses, huh. Well, Mark, I never did do well with authority figures. Kind of stands to reason doesn’t it, the New Jersey punk that got a scorpion tattoo on his neck so that he had to make the music business work for him, is bound to have a problem with authority. So, go ahead add that label of whatever it is to the list. I’ll wait. Not like I have anywhere else to go except my delightful, bijou little room.

Got off on the wrong foot you say. Not sure that there was a right foot. I mean I’m a captive here aren’t I? I can’t just get up and leave when I want, can I? Even if I do, you’ll drag me back in here. Oh, so now you’re gonna offer me coffee. Could have done that straight out the bag, might have helped. Black, two sugars, please. Still not exactly friendly though, any other bribes you’d like to try?

Glad this isn’t one of those movies where you can inject me with a truth serum or some other shit that makes me just open my mouth and blurt out my private thoughts. Although, I reckon you’d do a good line in waterboarding and electric shock if torture were legal. Am I making you uncomfortable, Mark?

Ok, well maybe we could start again. Tell you what, you tell me something about you, something personal. You know, try and get into that friend space. Hmm, why not maybe move out from behind that officious looking desk? I mean, it's not as if I bite, and they don’t let me have anything that I could stab you or strangle you with. Besides which, I don’t have a problem with anyone else – just me. Actually, that’s untrue, I have a major problem with one asshole, but I don’t need to name them because the whole world already knows who they are – doesn’t it?

Well, that’s a start. But I could probably figure that out from the pictures on your desk; you know sort of a dead giveaway to having a wife and kid! What else ya got, buddy? Ahh, now that’s a little more like it. Yes, now I … na, you’re joking, right? You…you used to be in a band with Travis Barker and Tom DeLonge when you were a teen? You expect me to …oh, ok, well alrighty then, yup that is pretty good evidence. I believe you.

Is giving you to me as my therapist supposed to make me wanna spill my guts more, as though we had some connection through music? You make a good point there, well yes, I did say that. Yes, several times already this morning. Huh, well I guess I got what I wanted. So, maybe I could let you in on the even sorrier details behind the sordid tale that is my pathetic excuse for a life and my inability to die; not a series of unfortunate events, but rather a series of catastrophic failures. Pen at the ready, Mark.

That first monumental fuck-up, falling in love with and declaring my undying love to my high school sweetheart. Without that maybe I could have avoided being here now. Jamia always gave me options, an “out”, if you will. She gave me a shot at whatever passes for normal. If the going ever got too tough with Gerard, when all his scheming seemed to do was hurt me, or make it look like a wedge had been driven between Bert and me, I could deny everything and push my relationship with Jamia to the fore. Of course, she always suspected, but never called me out on it, because that’s just how selfless she is. The real kicker came when she got pregnant with the twins. Kids were never supposed to happen. But, I adore my girls, and then Miles came along to complete the awesome trio. However, as hard as I try, I can never be the father they deserve.

Why keep that option? Ah, I see Mark, you’re having trouble keeping your judgement out of this. Where’s the therapist’s poker face? I’m sure I am not the first suicidal parent you’ve ever dealt with? Hmm, thought not. So, back to your question. It’s a good one! I know Gerard would say cowardice, an inability to pay the price for the lifestyle I could have had. You know what, perhaps his opinion is invalid. I mean, so much of what Bert and I went through for him boiled down to his fears of not getting his own way and his terror at the thought of being in love. You see, Mark, love is such an unpredictable emotion, don’t you think? Explain myself? Ok, well, you don’t always think clearly when you’re in love. You sometimes act on impulse or make rash decisions. Not something someone who so meticulously plans their way through life as Gerard does could be comfortable with. Does that make sense? Yeah, I guess that was a little bit of a detour to our story, but it’ll make sense in the end. I reckon you get the picture with Jamia now, don’t you? Good.

The next disaster was allowing Pencey Prep to fall apart in the hope that I could find my way into My Chem. Whether it worked or not in the end, sticking with Pencey over MCR might have made the whole shebang with Gerard easier. How? Oh, that’s easy to answer. We could still have fallen for each other, he could always have had Bert, but that spotlight on us and the stage antics that fuelled so much would not have taken place. Gerard would still have had a plan for fame, for glory and his legacy – he would never be without one. It would have been different, that’s all.

Clock watching, eh Mark? Am I boring you? Is this such an open and shut case? Oh, I see, you want your money’s worth. You want to make sure that you have enough evidence to back up your diagnosis. Am I right?

Yeah, well the next two bad decisions run together in one big clusterfuck. You’d think that having fallen for Gerard and Jamia, having both in my life, I wouldn’t have found a space for Bert, but I did. Here’s where all three of us (Gerard, Bert and me) were too cowardly, none of us would own up to ourselves or each other what was going on. Instead, I chose to play the hurt, pining lovelorn fool while allowing Bert and Gerard to play the beautiful, loving couple. I never expected it to go over so well, for people to take my side and portray Bert as the monster taking Gerard away from me.

Then, just as it looked like Gerard’s plan was coming to fruition after he had blown MCR up just before things became too big to control and was making his way back into the world of comics that he wanted to be in, Bert died. It tore both of us up, seeing him slip away to the drugs like that. Gerard amended his master plan, although I guess the infamy as the grieving partner made that easier to do. Me, well …Uh, huh – yep that is when I had my first rants about how much I missed Gerard – anonymously on both parts, of course. I left clues. A few diehard fans found them; most people ignored them. Did I want people to know? You’ve already made your mind up on that, I can see it in your face, so I’ll leave it there and go on with my story, for the sake of your precious time.

It was such a strain, having to keep things secret when he decided that it was ok for the three of us to be together again. Yes, it was his decision. It always would be. No-one makes decisions for Gerard Way. If they try, they learn the hard way never to do that again. I know, I have that t-shirt. So did Bert; he’d corroborate my story if he were still here. We had to make sure that nobody got a whiff of there being anything between us again. Especially not to let on that there had ever been anything between Bert and me. Now I had to sneak around a wife and babies, not an old girlfriend who was my on/off security blanket. Have you ever loved someone who refuses to admit that they love you? Rejects the notion that they are even capable of feeling that emotion? Not read it in textbooks, Mark. Truly experienced it? Lived it, breathed it? No? Well, let me tell you it fucks with your head. It eventually tears you to pieces.

Of course, some of my songs in bands after My Chem were about Gerard and about Bert. Honestly doing that was another fuck up. Like rubbing salt into an open wound; one that refuses to heal. You know you therapists trot out that hackneyed line about writing down your feelings. Express them, and it will help the healing process. It sure as shit didn’t. It kept it raw and festering. It also gave him ammunition. He would yell at me. He would rant on, telling me that I was irresponsible, putting everything he had worked so hard to build at risk, and for what some petty feelings? In his mind, it was all true. You know what though, Mark? Even if it was like picking at a scab time and time again, I couldn’t keep it all inside. I would have combusted. I know that sounds pretty ironic now, but I clung to the hope that the psychobabble would be true, that eventually, I would be able to leave him alone and learn to live without him. I thought I could stop grieving over Bert’s drug addiction. I never could. It’s been eating away at me like a cancer. The whole of my insides turning blacker day by day. My body disintegrating along with what was left of my mind until I knew what I had to do.

So, Mark yes that’s how I got here. I even managed to completely screw up what was supposed to be my last final act of defiance to the world. My one shot at taking back some control from Gerard and showing the world what we had. Explaining to everyone how beautiful it could have been, if only he were capable of understanding how to nurture fragile emotions and be open to allowing some things to develop of their own accord and in their own time. I published everything. Exposed it all to public scrutiny, never expecting to be here still to feel the backlash. Yet, here I am; seemingly doomed never to escape this place – well, not until I’m old and wrinkly anyway.

Finally, the $64m dollar question. I’ve been waiting for you to ask this one, Mark. No, not his style. If he was angry that I had aired our laundry, gone public and formally admitted that all the anonymous postings were mine and about him, he would have found a way of seeing me, talking to me and convincing me to have another go at ending myself. But I haven’t spoken to him or seen him in ages through any of the usual channels. He would never stoop so low as to pay someone else to kill me. It would ruin his fun, his sense of total control. If you want to find the answer to that riddle - who else, but I, wants me dead - you’ll have to bark up another tree.

Oh wow, is time up already? Well, Mark, maybe I’ll be around long enough for another session now that I’m in such a “secure” facility. See ya!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go - an not it's not Bert from beyond the grave - although that I wish I hadn't only just thought of that as I am typing this note!
> 
>    
> I am changing my name on here so that it matches across multiple accounts, I think the final chapter will be under Morgawse, but if you like my work and want to try something else I've written, then after the last part of this, look out for Disenchanted Halo (in some format or other). I will post this message across my other current stories, so that all of my wonderful readers get a chance to see the note, apologies if you read this more than once. :)
> 
>    
> I really enjoy interacting with people who read my writing, so please comment and let me know what you thought. All constructive comments welcome.
> 
>    
> I hang out on twitter under @morgawse_hp if you'd like to connect – I promise to follow back. I always tweet when I post something on here, and then there are the other random rants. I am always open to suggestions for one-shot ideas on Twitter.


	3. Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank and Gerard say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short final chapter, but as they say a scene is done when its done, not when it reaches a word count. Not my greatest work this chapter, but I have rewritten it from two different angles, several times and really just want to finish this. I loved the two interviews though!
> 
> I hope I got all the typos and any other errors, if not apologies.

*Gerard’s Note*

By the time you read this, all three of us will be dead, although Bert beat Frank and me to it. We have kept him waiting for too long. I promised him I would join him. I watched as his lips paled, his limbs became floppy and listened to the strange gurgling sounds he made until finally, he fell silent knowing that we had both agreed to that lethal dose and that I would not call anyone until it was too late. That Frank would join us was never in doubt. I never asked about their final conversation, allowing them that concession, that privacy.

Don’t look for a note from Frank. He already wrote his long goodbye. The world already knows his rhyme and reasons. He failed in his last attempt. I failed him too with my poor choice of hired help. I know he will have denied it, to spare me; however, he knows the truth of that bungled attempt to help him on his way. But I will not let him down this time. The little gift that I managed to send him, my last action as a free man. I already knew which institution he would check into. We had agreed that, when the time came, if he failed to take his life then he would go there, and I would somehow see to it that he accomplished the task, even if he needed a little help along the way.

Now for the real skeleton in my closet - I am a coward. I chickened out of a promise. Perhaps I needed to test the limits of my self-control, to prove that no-one else had any power over me. Ego keeping me from the men I loved. Yes, men. I hate that Frank ran for cover all the time. I despised that Jamia still had that hold on him. He was in love with Bert and with me, yet he loved her too. She was safe familiar, easy to get along with. They made a cute couple for the press especially when the kids came along. Jealousy makes you do ridiculous things. So, I made up all those spiteful things. Spat venom at him after the band breakup. Pretended to ignore him. I made the world think that my life was so much better off without him. I couldn’t carry off the grieving partner role with Frank clinging to my side. If we had both been braver then, I might have changed my plan. If he had forsaken Jamia for me, I would have found a way to make things work. I knew he never would, not in life anyway. In death, then yes, he would give them all up for Bert and me. In fact, if you are reading this, then I pray to a god whose existence I wish I could believe in, that Frank has kept his end of the pact, forsaken them and followed me into oblivion.

You see the bold truth of the extent of my cowardice is, I was hopelessly, painfully, masochistically in love with both Frank and Bert, but I could never see how to make it fit the Gerard Way plan. Not the three of us openly together. I succeeded in my plan, didn’t I? I kept everyone guessing. I even beat Dr Armstrong. I told him I was no psycho, just slighted twisted and determined to get my way. Please understand that my arrest was not a mistake, I even told Dr A that I never make them. Was he too blind to see that this was a way out of my cowardice, a way to exert pressure on myself? A new strand in the plan to cement my legacy, to create the myth and legend of Gerard Arthur Way. If you are reading this then surely, I have succeeded in my plan. I told you I always get what I want.

*Frank’s Note*

So, yes, I’m dead. If you’re reading this, then I hope I am. I can’t screw this up again. At long last, I will be where I belong, with the men I am meant to be with.

This won’t be a long note. I know so much of my tale is out there, but I need people to know I do this willingly. I crave the grave. I long to be where I can spend my time with Bert and Gee, even if that place is the fiery pits of hell. We were so good together, but the fates seemed not to agree to that with us alive.

Please ensure that the other letter I have enclosed gets to Jamia. I do feel remorse for the pain I will cause her and my amazing children, but I cannot live a lie any longer. My words cannot erase their pain, but I hope that one day they can feel it in their hearts to forgive my selfish act and realise that ultimately it is for their good that I am gone.

I am happy now: in heaven, in hell, in nothingness. I don’t care, just so long as I am not in my self-made hell on earth. Do not grieve for me.

*The Press Statement*

Following the untimely deaths by suicide of Gerard Way and Frank Iero, formerly of the band My Chemical Romance, police in Tampa, Florida, say that they have re-opened their case on the death of the late Robert McCracken. McCracken, who was the lead singer with the band The Used at the time of his death, was also Way’s publicly acknowledged partner. Although the official police spokesperson would not be drawn on the allegations, sources close to the investigation say that the case has been opened following disclosures made on-line by Iero and details of a suicide note left by Way at Coalinga State Hospital. These sources intimate that the death, once ruled an accidental overdose, may now be considered murder, or at the very least assisted suicide. We will keep you updated as any new information is released.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be starting a new series before the end of the week which will be a series of individual stories based on MCR as space pirates (yes, it will be far more comedic than this!). I would love it if you would check it out! :) The first story is called "Welcome to the Bullet's Revenge". 
> 
> As I always say, I really enjoy interacting with people who read my writing, so please comment and let me know what you thought. All constructive comments welcome.
> 
> I hang out on twitter under @morgawse_hp if you'd like to connect – I promise to follow back. I always tweet when I post something on here, and then there are the other random rants. I am always open to suggestions for one-shot ideas on Twitter.

**Author's Note:**

> Next time, Frank speaks. What does he have to say about Gerard, Bert, and why he posted their 'secrets'?
> 
> I really enjoy interacting with people who read my writing, so please comment and let me know what you thought. All constructive comments welcome, especially as I experimented with the one-sided conversation which I have never attempted before. 
> 
> I hang out on twitter under @morgawse_hp if you'd like to connect. I always tweet when I post something on here, and then there are the other random rants. I am always open to suggestions for one-shot ideas on Twitter - just note smut is really challenging for me, but don't let that stop you requesting it.


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